


Classical Conditioning

by patentpending



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluffiest thing I've ever written, Height Differences, Kissing, Logan Sanders being an idiot, M/M, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patentpending/pseuds/patentpending
Summary: According to the psychological theory of classical conditioning, positive reinforcement will cause a certain behavior to become ingrained in a subject.Patton is small, asks tall Logan for help, kisses him on the cheek, and classical conditioning ensues.





	Classical Conditioning

**Author's Note:**

> The Powerless discord had a secret santa, and I got @skylagamingv2 on tumblr, who asked for "the fluffiest thing you can. Doesn't matter which ship, just give me fluff please!" 
> 
> Merry Christmas, Skyla. I hope you like it!

The day, perhaps, was originally only significant in its mundanity.

Logan was curled up on the couch, eyes skimming over a book he had read so often that he knew the words by heart, Virgil and Roman were scrolling through Tumblr on Virgil’s phone, and Patton was in the kitchen, making dinner.

He stood on his tiptoes, trying to reach a jar of spices on a high shelf, but, at five-foot and two-inches, he was far too short.  “Lo?” He called to the tallest of the sides. “Can you help me?”

“Of course.”  Logan unfolded himself, striding on long legs over to the other side.  He easily grabbed the needed jar and handed it to Patton. “There you are.”

“Thanks, Lo!”  Patton bounced up on his tiptoes to kiss Logan's cheek.  “You're the best.”

He turned back to the stove, oblivious to the way Logan was suddenly statue-still, a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

From the other room, Virgil coughed pointedly.  Logan sprang back to life, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses.  

“No problem whatsoever, Patton.”

He returned to his book, looking at the pages instead of reading them.  His mind was a million miles away as his long fingers tapped against the spine.

The faintest dredges of a plan amagmalated themselves in his mind.

 

Items started finding themselves placed mysteriously on higher shelves.  Virgil and Roman, who were also fairly tall, found no problem with this, but Patton was most certainly affected.

He could never reach the popcorn, or the cookie jar, or his hoodie, or _anything_ when it was on a top shelf.  His mouth twisted as he _fruit_ lessly reached for it.  It was _berry_ hard, and he was running a bit _short_ on patience here.  Luckily, Logan was always around to help.

Weirdly close by to help, in fact.

 

Patton huffed in frustration as he reached futilely for the remote, which, for some unfathomable reason, was on top of the bookshelf.  

Logan, on the other side of the room, kept shifting and adjusting his glasses as he darted glances at the other side.  He found his foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he waited for those five little words he had come to crave.

“Logan, can you help me?”

Serotonin and oxytocin immediately flooded Logan’s system.  He was halfway out of his chair and across the room before the words had even fallen from Patton’s pink lips.  “Of course, Patton.”

He easily scooped up the remote - after all, he had been the one to put it up there - and presented it to Patton, leaning down for easier access.  To the remote. Not to his face. Obviously.

“Thanks, Logan!”  Patton chirped, taking the device.  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  He pressed his lips against Logan’s hot cheek before padding off to watch The Black Cauldron with Virgil.

Roman, who had been leaning against the wall and making bedroom eyes at his katana, suddenly sheathed his sword and sauntered over to Logan, smirking.  “Hey there, Don Juan way to flirt.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are referring to,” Logan said primly, clinical tone somewhat ruined by the way he grabbed Roman by the sash and whisked him to the next room before Patton could hear.

“Completely ignorant, I see,” Roman groused, backing away and indignantly straightening- (wait no) -  shaking the wrinkles out of his shirt.

“Sarcasm is a bad look on you,” Logan retorted.  “Has sufficient contact of your and Virgil’s oral cavities finally transferred his vernacular to yourself?”

“Oh, we do more than oral.”

“You disgust me.”

Roman just laughed extravagantly and grinned.  “Why are you torturing Patton, Microsoft Nerd?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”  Logan huffed. “You seem to have all the answers.”

“Just some theories.  Don’t you love those, Sher-locked-into-denial?”

“Why… why are you winking at me. Stop that.”

“No can do, Hercules Pi-rotten.”

“It looks like your face is spasming quite painfully.”

“It looks like your _life_ is spasming quite painfully.”

“And I’m quite finished with this conversation.”  Logan neatly side-stepped Roman, making to go back into the commons.

“Have fun putting stuff on high shelves so Patton will kiss you!”  Roman called, grinning as Logan froze.

He turned around stiffly, a flush creeping over the bridge of his nose.  “You… noticed that.”

“I’m not as dumb as I pretend to be.”

“I thought we agreed the winking was going to stop.”

“Hush now, World’s Greatest Deflect-ive.”  Roman placed a hand in the center of his chest.  “Your best friend is worried about you.”

“Just rolling with the detective nicknames now, are we?”  Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I will concede that I _may_ have _recently_ put a _few_ objects in _slightly_ higher locations than they are _normally_ situated.”

Roman arched an eyebrow, pursing his lips.  “That was Extra, even for me.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Logan said dryly, “I have things more important than talking in circles to attend to.”

The romantic side sighed, stepping aside and dramatically gesturing towards the door.  “You can run, Sam S-afraid, but you cannot hide from the course of true love!”

Logan flipped him a pair of double birds that put Deceit to shame and stalked off to find some ice.  His skin was unusually fevered.

 

 

It was a very logical plan that was in no way governed by his emotions.  In fact, it was rather reminiscent of a certain psychological experiment by Ivan Pavlov.  Classical conditioning, one might call it. A behavior, once rewarded, will start to become intrinsic to a subject.  Logan got items down for Patton, rewarding him, and Patton just so happened to kiss Logan. This was not a reward, as Logan was not governed by such petty qualities as emotions.

Logan stalwartly ignored that the chronology of his imaginary scenario made no sense, and the only reward-worthy behavior Patton supposedly exhibited was asking for his help.

Deceit slithered into the common room, smirking.  “Someone _isn’t_ lying to himself.”  He grinned at a scowling Logan.  “Of _course_ , Patton is the one being rewarded here. Absolutely _not_ you.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed stiffly.  “Precisely what I was saying.”

The snake just scoffed, slithering into the kitchen to see if there were any gummy rats left.

“I will defenestrate you if you eat my Crofter’s again!”  Logan called.

“I would _never.”_

 

“Logan?”  Patton called, standing on his tiptoes and craning to reach his scrapbook.  “Lo, can you help me?”

In a metaphorical flash - as neither humans nor sides can literally travel at the speed of light - Logan was beside him.  “Of course, Patton.”

He easily slid the scrapbook off of the shelf, presenting it to the smaller side.  “Here you are.”

“Thanks, Logan!”  He chirped, hugging it to his chest.  “I was just _scrap_ ing for ideas if this guy couldn’t _book_ up my afternoon.”  He giggled as Logan sighed.  “Really though, thank you.”

Logan’s chest felt so wonderfully light, and it wasn’t until he felt tension in his cheeks that he realized he was smiling.  “Of course, Patton,” he said softly. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

Patton’s grin turned almost bashful.  “You’re the sweetest, Lo.” He raised himself on his tiptoes, and his lips brushed Logan’s hot cheek, feather-light.  “I love you.”

Logan immediately froze, and Patton jolted back, face flaming.  “And Virgil! You and Virgil. And Roman, of course, and I can’t forget Dee, oh gosh.”  He laughed, only a bit too bright. “Thomas! Thomas, too. You and Virgil and Roman and Dee and Thomas.  I just love you all so much! My fam! I-L-Y!”

“Yes, well…”  Logan cleared his throat.  “Your existence, as well, is… optimal.”

Patton managed a laugh, the last of his blush dying away.  “Such a charmer.”

“No, actually, I’d call my romancing skills rather subpar.”  Logan frowned.

Patton shook his head, fixing his gaze onto Logan’s eyes.  “You’d be surprised,” he said softly, then smiled and bade him goodbye before Logan could decipher what, exactly, that was supposed to mean.

 

 

“I’m going to murder Logan.”

“Might I inquire what happened this time, not-so-Good Charlotte?”

“There is no explanation, only death.”

“Darling,” Roman sighed, setting down his sketchbook as Virgil flopped down next to him on the couch, “we have to let them figure this out themselves.”  Virgil wriggled until his head was resting in Roman’s lap, and the romantic side gently combed his fingers through vivid violet hair. “Besides, why is Logan the target of your ire?  Why don’t you go after Patton?”

Virgil gave him a flat look.

“Fair point,” Roman conceded.  “Still, him being an a bit of idiot isn’t a reason to immediately resort to homicide.”

Virgil lifted his head slightly, peering towards the kitchen.  “I can literally see him putting all of the spoons in the house on top of the cabinets right now.”

“Just because he’s the world’s biggest idiot,” Roman amended, “doesn’t mean you have to murder him, Ted no-fun-dy.”  Roman leaned down, kissing Virgil softly. “Besides” - his lips barely brushed Virgil’s with each word - “I seem to recall you did some rather ridiculous things during our courtship.”

Virgil scoffed.  “I never did anything _that_ bad.”

“You told me that I was hotter than Gerard Way then immediately ran off.”

“I panicked.”

“I loved it.”  Roman grinned down at him.  “It’s probably the nicest thing you _can_ say, Lyn-z Gay.”

Virgil hummed. “Nah, not quite.”

“Is that so?”  Roman rubbed their noses together.  “Then pray tell.”

Virgil dramatically inhaled, ramping himself up.  “You’re not as big as an idiot as Logan.”

Roman squacked idginanty, laughing.  “Truly, you’re a master of romance.”

Virgil grinned.  “I learned from the best,” he said and kissed him.

 

 

Logan, admittedly, was required to think a little out of the box for his future ventures.

He crawled out of his thinking box - crisply and logically decorated with his favorite geometric equations - and sat at his desk, pensively pondering his notebook of tests.  If this classical conditioning were to go to plan, it was vital a variety of items be moved, as to ameliorate any suspicion Patton may possess.

He had started with smaller trifles - remotes, scrapbooks, cameras - and slowly worked his way up to more ubiquitous items - spoons, shoes, toothbrushes, etc.  Now, however, he would love to-

Logan wrenched his train of thought off of that particular track, scowling.  That was a particularly poor word choice on his part. ‘Love’. Logan Sanders did not _love_ anything.  He _valued_ knowledge, and he _appreciated_ fulfilling deadlines, and he _esteemed_ Thomas and his fellow sides, but he didn't _love_ anything, no matter what Roman said.

Love was… messy.  It was imperfect and confusing and strange.  It didn't follow the rules that logic dictated and caused dramatic outbursts of icky emotions and made people act quite preposterously.

Preposterous enough to make someone put all the laundry detergent on top of the cabinets?

Logan's scowl deepened, partially at his wandering thoughts, partially at the flush creeping up the back of his neck.  This wasn't… that. Logan was in the midst of a psychological experiment in the style of Pavlov, and he intended to carry it out objectively, scientifically, and, above all, professionally.

He tapped his pen against the desk and weighed the possibility of putting the refrigerator on the roof.

 

 

The refrigerator proved too bulky to move single-handedly - and there was no way Logan was going to ask Virgil or Roman for help - so Logan had been forced to take a metaphorical step back.

He then took a literal step back and proudly examined his handiwork - five chairs haphazardly crammed into the space between the stove ventilation hood and the wall.  Yes, this would suffice.

Calmly, he strode into the living room and flipped on Planet Earth, curling up with his TARDIS blanket in the thin early morning sun.  He stifled a yawn and glanced at his watch - half past seven. Patton, as per usual, would be up any moment now.

The narrator’s soothing voice weighed on his eyelids, pulling them down, and Logan reasoned that it would be _fine_ to rest his cheek on the couch’s armchair, just for a moment.

He awoke to the sound of soft giggling, and his eyes inched open to see Patton smiling down at him, eyes soft and warm.  “Hiya there, Lo. Did you fall asleep watching those tree documentaries like Virge always does?”

“Virgil does not understand the finer points of Sequoia life cycles.”  Logan groggily sat up, squinting as Patton's giggles started up again. “Is something amiss, Patton?”

Trying to bite back his grin, Patton pulled out his phone and snapped a picture, flipping it around for Logan to see the screen.

Logan's eyes widened, the last dredges of sleep suddenly knocked away.  A bird could've taken meticulous notes on how to build a proper nest from his hair, as tangled and disarrayed as it was.  His eyes were soft with sleep, face relaxed and slightly bleary. His shoulder peeked out from inside his oversized Sherlock t-shirt.  Logan really should've gotten properly dressed before engaging in science so early in the morning.

“Delete that,” he said immediately.

“Nope!”  Patton chirped, smiling like the evil, evil man he was and hugging his phone protectively to his chest.  “This is my new screensaver.”

Logan groaned, letting his head fall back onto the couch.  “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Be too darn cute, that's what!”  Patton laughed, then calmed, reaching out a hand before catching himself.  “Can I help you out there, Lo?”

“Yes,” Logan said, unsure quite what he was agreeing to.

Achingly gently, Patton's fingers brushed through his hair, combing it back into place.  Shivers rippled down Logan's spine as he stared with wide eyes up at Patton, quiet and focused on his work.  His nails scratched lightly over Logan's scalp, and he found himself leaning into the touch.

“You gotta _paws_ acting like a puppy there, Logan!”  Patton grinned, brushing all the way to the nape of the other side's neck.

“I am doing no such thing,” Logan retorted without any real heat.  It just felt… really nice to have Patton touch him like this, soft and gentle and sure.  He really was rather wonderful.

“There.”  Patton stepped back with a satisfied nod all too soon.  “Just as handsome as ever!”

“My sincerest thanks, Patton.”  Logan granted him a small smile.  “It's greatly appreciated.”

“What is?”  Virgil clambered gracelessly down the stairs, all loose limbs and mile-wide smirk.  “Did Pat finally get that stick out of your as-”

Patton glared, crossing his arms.

“-tonishingly large stick collection,” Virgil quickly amended.  “Did Patton find that one specific stick you have definitely been looking for and I did not make up just now?”

“Tragically not,” Logan humored him.  “I am quite certain, however, that it shall turn up eventually.”

Patton decided to have mercy and smiled at them, turning into the kitchen.  “I'll get started on breakfast!”

There was a beat of silence.

“What the fuck?”

“Language!”  Virgil called, grinning.

Patton poked his head back into the room, sighing.  “Lo, can you help me? We've got a bit of a situation.”

“Of course, Patton.”  Logan rose and was carefully taking down the chairs before Patton could even ask.

“One… two… three… four… five!”  Patton counted each one off as Logan handed it to him, and he arranged them around the table.  “Thank you, Lo.”

“My pleasure, Patton.”  Logan stood expectantly, but Patton looked at him for a moment longer, a hint of mischief curling his lips.

“One,” he said, bouncing up to kiss Logan’s left cheek.  “Two.” The right cheek. “Three.” His forehead. “Four.”  The tip of his nose. “Five.” The line of his jaw.

He grinned up at a bright red Logan, eyes dancing.  “I think that’s only fair, don’t you?”

Logan garbled something that could’ve been agreement in a language very light on vowels. His face was on fire, ghosts of Patton’s kisses still peppering his skin.

“I gotta get started on breakfast, Lo.”  Patton gently bustled him out the door, although, what with Logan’s mind currently bluescreening, Patton probably could have thrown him into an active volcano without a hint of protest.  “See you later, alligator!” Patton, grinning, closed the door.

Logan's jaw worked a few times before he managed a “...crocodile.”  He stared forlornly at the door until Virgil’s pointed coughing drew his attention.

The other side smirked at him from across the room, and, flushing, Logan stiffly walked up the stairs and collapsed onto his bed, only then letting his hand wander up to gently, wondrously trace over the places Patton had kissed him.

Okay, Roman may have been… not incorrect.

Logan sighed, turning on his side, and a small smile lifted the corners of his lips.  When it came to Patton, Logan supposed he hardly could’ve chosen a better person to fall in love with.

 

 

In hindsight, it was probably the shampoo on the top shelf that was the tipping point.

“Okay, kiddos,” Patton sighed, standing before the couch with his hands on his hips.  “I’m really going to need all of you to stop putting stuff up on high places. I can’t help my- _shelf_ and get them.  I’m really running _short_ on patience here.”

The winter coat on the mantle?

Virgil shrugged lazily, smirking at the puns.  “It’s not me.”

“I would never be so inconsiderate to such a fair companion as yourself!”  Roman proclaimed dramatically, flinging his hands out. Deceit yelped and ducked to avoid getting smacked by the royal.  “A knight is always courteous.”

Or it may have been when Logan taped all the shoes in the house to the ceiling.

“It _was_ me,” Deceit deadpanned, scowling at Roman, who didn’t bother looking apologetic.  “I am _so_ much taller than you, and I _have_ been purposefully putting things where you cannot reach.”

Patton puffed out his cheeks in frustration, looking at his fellow tiny side.  (Deceit often joked he was so small to be closer to his true home in hell.) “Well it isn’t me!  And since Lo is the one who's been helping me, I doubt he’s putting stuff all the way up there!”

Logan had, in fact, been the one to put all the couch pillows on the bookshelf.

“Right,” Deceit, Virgil, and Roman drawled in unison as Logan shot them all death glares.

“Well, can it just stop? Please?”  Patton sighed. “I hate having to _bug_ poor Lo all the time.  He's going to get a _cricket_ in the neck at this point.”

“I truly don't mind, Patton!”  Logan interjected hastily. His mind began - very logically - racing, calculating scenarios where Patton would call upon Virgil or Roman for help instead of him.  The thought of one of them receiving his kisses didn't fill him with jealousy, as one might have expected, but, instead, sadness. It was… nice, to have this thing just between him and Patton.  Domestic and mundane as it may be, it was something special to Logan, something cherished.

He didn't want to give that up.

“You know that I” - _treasure, crave, desire, love, love, love_ \- “value your companionship.  No matter the unusual circumstances of it being rewarded, I do not mind your company.”

Patton's expression was strange.  Softness was a standard feature of Patton's face; everything he did was imbued with a certain measure of tenderness.  There was softness, tenderness in Patton's expression, yes, but something else as well, something strong and sure as an epiphany.  “Thanks, Logan.”

His name, too, was strange as it fell from Patton's lips, strong and soft and sure and tender.  A flick of the tongue, a pursing of the lips, a soft exhale - physical movements that could not help categorize the things Patton did to Logan by saying his name.

Logan smiled, almost unsurely.  “Of course, Patton.”

Virgil groaned and face-planted into Roman's shoulder.  “Murder,” he muttered darkly. “It's happening.”

Roman absentmindedly pressed a kiss to the crown of Virgil's head, practically vibrating in excitement as Logan and Patton gazed (or gay-zed, as Patton would say) at each other far too long to be socially acceptable.

But then Patton giggled nervously and turned away, and Logan snapped out of it, adjusting his tie and blabbering some nonsense about the psychology of teamwork making Thomas more productive.

Roman sighed.  “You know,” he mused, turning to his love.  “I'm almost with you there.”

“ _Not_ same,” Deceit hissed.

 

 

“Logan _doesn't_ think it's strange _at all,_ you know.”

Patton lit up as he turned from his current knitting project - a beanie to keep Roman warm on his winter quests - to see Deceit lurking at the edge of the common room.

“Dee!” He beamed.  “Hey there, kiddo!”  Patton patted the couch beside him, smiling as his strange snakey son coiled up next to him.  “What was that about Lo?”

“He _doesn’t_ think it’s strange” - Deceit yawned, revealing fanged teeth and a forked tongue - “that you keep kissing him.”  Deceit was lying, of course, but if you thought he was going to point that out, you probably also thought the Percy Jackson movies were good.

Patton stiffened impercibly, the soothing click of his knitting needles stuttering like an errant heartbeat.  “O-oh?” He began knitting again, faster. “Is that right?”

“No,” Deceit said honestly, snaking up in the electric blanket.  “He _isn’t_ confused by you kissing him, and he _doesn’t_ want to know what you mean by it.”  He gazed at Patton through lazy, half-lidded eyes.  “You _didn’t_ miss a stitch.”

Patton held up the beanie up for inspection, mouth twisting.  “I’ll fix it,” he sighed softly. He smiled at Deceit hesitantly.  “Thanks for telling me.”

Deceit’s expression softened, a tiny twinge of uncertainty hitting him.  “I _don’t_ care about you.”  He butted his head of curls against Patton’s shoulder, warm and comforting.  “You mean _nothing_ to me.”  The sour turn of Patton’s mouth wasn’t quite gone, so he sighed, dropping his head to rest on Patton’s arm, letting him still for a moment.  “Logan _doesn’t_ care either.”

“I know he does,” Patton said softly.  “I just… don’t know if it’s in the same way.  Earlier, I really thought that…” He broke off with a sigh, unwilling to give his flights of fantasy the weight of the real world.

Deceit didn’t say anything more, just removed his head from Patton’s arm and rested it on his shoulder.  After a moment, Patton began to knit again, a steady _click click click._ The twinge of uncertainty hadn’t left Deceit, but he set his jaw, resolute.  Logan and Patton were idiots number one and two, but if idiots three and four weren’t going to do anything, Deceit knew just where to push to get a reaction.

For now, however, he dozed lightly on Patton’s shoulder to the click of knitting needles, like a heartbeat.

 

 

The call would come any second now.  Logan found his foot tapping restlessly against the carpet and frowned at it, forcing stillness.  The moment his attention wandered, however, he found it tapping yet again. He huffed and conceded that, perhaps, he could indulge himself in a bit of physical expression today.

It was silent.

There were supposed to be five words ringing through the air in that high, clear voice Logan loved so dearly.  There was supposed to be Patton, standing on his tiptoes and straining to reach the remote or his hoodie or the spoons or the coffee maker or whatever Logan had shoved onto a high shelf.  Yet, still.

Silence.

The words on the page before Logan blurred as he retreated into his mind, analyzing what had gone wrong.  Perhaps Virgil or Roman had needed the crafting supplies and had gotten them down. Maybe Patton had called for him, but it had been earlier, when Logan was devising Thomas’s weekly schedule in his room.  Maybe the basket had fallen and Patton, upon opening the hall closet, had twisted his lovely mouth in frustration before sighing and kneeling to scoop up the errant yarn and bead-

“Logan?”  The silence was broken, and Logan almost tripped over himself getting to the source of the call.  “Can you help me- Oh!” Patton broke off with a giggle as he turned around and came face-to-chest with Logan.  “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Logan concurred, adjusting his glasses.  “Is something amiss, Patton?”

“The buttons.”  Patton gestured to the highest shelf of the hall closet, where Logan had previously stashed the needed container.  “I’m trying to finish Ro’s beanie before it gets too cold!”

Logan smiled at him, softer than he would’ve dared show anyone else.  “Altruistic of you.”

“Well, he needs it before he gets all…”  Patton paused, obviously fishing for the proper word.

“Frigid?”  Logan suggested.

Patton beamed up at him.  “You get me.”

“And I also ‘got’ this.”  Logan handed Patton the button container (a refurbished cookie tin), leaning down slightly, almost jittery with pleasant anticipation.

“Thanks, Lo!”  Patton chirped, hugging the tin to his chest before… walking off.

Logan froze for a moment, blinking rapidly as if it could aid his processing.  “Um, Patton?” His unusually hesitant voice stopped the other side, who turned.

“Yes?”  If Logan didn’t know better, he would’ve said Patton’s voice was just as unsure.

“Are you… did you…”  Logan floundered, arms moving in short gestures aborted halfway though.  “Is everything quite alright?” He finally settled on.

“I’m not _tin-_ sed up, if that’s what you mean.”  Patton brandished the cookie tin with a giggle.  He quieted when Logan didn’t respond, smile fading as he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.  “Why do you ask?”

The faintest dredges of hope lingered in Patton’s voice, but they crashed against the streams of information and processing functions running inside Logan’s head.  “No reason.” He smiled awkwardly. “Just wondering.”

 

 

“Ugh,” Logan said eloquently, flopping face-first onto Roman’s couch.

“Quite,” Roman agreed, although his exact facial expressions were hidden behind his drying mud mask.  He had been slightly perturbed when Logan interrupted him in the middle of spa day, but a quandary of true love such as this warranted such an intrusion.

“Uugh,” Logan moaned, burying his face into a pillow.

“I see.”  Roman thoughtfully bit into the cucumber slice that had been resting over his eye a moment ago.  “So, you go through the usual thirsty thot routine, and… nothing?”

“Uuugh,” Logan confirmed.

“Interesting.”  Roman sipped his champagne, red silk robe rustling as he leaned back in his chair.  “But this is a deviation from the norm? He’s always kissed you before.”

Logan, in a remarkable expansion of his vocabulary, said “ugh.”

Roman narrowed his eyes, the movement shifting the headband that carefully held back his thick curls.  “Did you say something to him about it?”

The “ugh” took on a vaguely negatory tone, and Roman tapped his finger against his chin pensively.  “Interesting,” he repeated. “Well, can you tell me-”

“-what exactly happened?”  Virgil, in the sunroom, blinked incredulously at a fretting Patton.

“I don’t know,” Patton wailed.  “He got the thingy down for me, and I said thank you, but then I started thinking, ‘wait, what if he thinks I’m-”

“-peculiar,” Logan bemoaned, having removed his face from the cushions of Roman’s couch, “for never having rejected his kiss before?”

“Chill out, Senseless and no Sensibility.”  Roman held up his hands placatingly, eyes wide.  “You can’t just jump to conclusions like that. Who are you-”

“-me?”  Virgil joked, sighing as Patton didn’t crack a smile.  “Look, Pat, you just need to talk to him. I don’t think he’s-”

“-too weirded out if he hasn’t stopped it before,” Roman pointed out.  “He could’ve just cut you off if he didn’t like it.”

“But what if that is precisely what has just occured?”  Logan argued, scowling. “This could be his way of telling me that-”

“-maybe he wants me to stop kissing him,” Patton fretted.  “Maybe he just-”

“-doesn’t feel the same way,” Logan sighed, slumping down on the couch.  “And I’ll have to accept that.”

“Hey, none of that now, Prideful and Prejudiced!”  Roman interrupted sternly. “I know a thing or two about romance by now, and I can certainly tell you that-”

“-you just need to talk to him,” Virgil explained to Patton gently.  “Isn’t it better than just pining away like this?”

Patton blinked slowly.  “Don’t be-”

“-ridiculous, Roman.”  Logan sniffed. “The most logical thing to do at this current juncture is to wait and acquire more data.  As you said, this may have been a fluke.”

Roman smiled wryly.  “Well, I can’t make up your mind for you.”  He paused, swirling around his fluke of champagne.  “But, you know, Dr. Drab-cy, it’s okay if you’re-”

“-scared,” Virgil reassured Patton.

Patton looked up and smiled weakly.  “Well,” he said softly. “Maybe-”

Logan adjusted his glasses.  “Just a little.”

 

 

Logan had been running through a list of possible talking points, brushing up on his Pavlovian psychology, and internally screaming when he suddenly encountered Patton in the living room.  His heart seized in his chest, but he knew that this… endeavor couldn’t go on any longer.

“Patton” - Logan stood before the side in question, taller by far but somehow feeling so small under Patton’s gaze - “there’s a topic of discussion I wish to confer about.”

“Oh, um, okay.”  Patton chewed his bottom lip nervously as Virgil flopped into Roman’s lap, a brimming bucket of popcorn in hand.

“There are certain schools of philosophy that believe, when positive reinforcement is induced - in this case… physical affection - certain behaviors would become inherent - in this case… my placing objects in high places.”  His voice and gaze trailed off, unwilling to see the look on Patton’s face.

Patton made a noise of surprise.  “You’re the one who's been putting stuff up really high!? Why?”

“You Pavlov’d him, Pat,” Virgil called around a mouth full of popcorn.  Roman shushed him, grabbing a handful of popcorn himself.

“I am not a logger!”  Patton exclaimed, puffing out his cheeks.  “I care a lot about the environment!”

“No, he is, ah…”  Logan coughed, adjusting his tie.  “Virgil would be referring to the psychological experiments performed by Ivan Petrovich Pavlov in the 1890s, where specific behaviors became ingrained in subjects as a result of certain… rewards, often referred to as classical conditioning.  You kissing me became a _very_ compelling reward.”

“Wait…”  Patton blinked up at him.  “So when I kissed you because you helped me, you kept making up ways to help me so I'd keep kissing you?”

“Yes, that, um.”  Logan fiddled with the edge of his glasses frames, swallowing.  “That does appear to be the case.”

A smile blossomed across Patton’s face, as slow and gentle as the unfurling of flower petals.  “Logan” - he stepped forward and took the other side’s hands in his own, a wonderful thrill rising in his throat - “if you wanted me to kiss you, you could’ve just asked.”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat, all other bodily functions ceasing to work as his brain worked rapidfire, trying to decipher Patton’s words, searching for a catch, a trick, a loophole.  There wasn't one. Logan’s world was one of puzzles and logic, him making everything fit into its perfect place - black and white and order and discipline. With Patton, however, he didn’t have to create that perfection, he didn’t have to know everything.  With Patton, he could simply be.

“Patton, what are…”  Logan faltered. “What are you saying?”

Patton nudged impossibly closer, tensed to raise himself on his tiptoes.  “Ask me to kiss you, Logan.” He smiled at Logan’s hesitation. “It’s okay,” he said softly.  “Just ask.”

Logan cleared his throat, building himself up.  “Patton Sanders, would you be amenable to…” Patton squeezed Logan’s hands softly, and his defences shattered away.  “Please,” Logan said, softer than a broken whisper. Emotion welled in his throat, heart trembling in his chest, but for Patton, for Patton, it was more than alright.  “Patton, please, I…” He swallowed deeply. “Kiss me, Patton.”

And Patton did.

Virgil and Roman were gone by the time they pulled back, cheeks hot and hair mussed.

“I really, really love you, Logan,” Patton said softly.

“Well that’s good” - Logan smiled uncontrollably, eyes growing fogged with happy tears - “because I really, really love you, too.”

Patton laughed, burying his head in Logan’s chest.  Logan dropped kisses into his soft curls, one after another after another.  He had quite a few to go before they were equal in kisses given, but Logan had the feeling he’d have plenty of opportunities to even the score.

“So…”  Patton looked up, those beautiful brown eyes shining.  “I trained you, huh?” Patton’s fingers wrapped around Logan’s tie, holding him in place as if Logan was even slightly tempted to move.  Patton’s smile was a tangible thing, warm in Logan’s chest. “Well then” - he kissed Logan lightly - “good boy.”

Logan would always adamantly deny that he whimpered when Patton said that.

(Even though he did.)

 

 

One day, a few months later, Patton looked up at the ceiling, where all of his pants had been inexplicably taped.  “Logan?”

“Sorry.”  Logan sat up somewhat sheepishly in their bed. “Habit.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my fluff-fest!
> 
> Roast me like a chestnut over an open fire if you see a typo.


End file.
